


Ten Times Found

by halsinator



Series: a species of revolution [1]
Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Politics, Unintended Trips to Faerie, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-16 11:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4624380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halsinator/pseuds/halsinator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Segundus is a virgin, for a given definition of "virgin." This causes a great deal of trouble for him. And for Childermass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For a kinkmeme prompt: "Segundus is always getting kidnapped to be devirginized as part of Sinister Magical Rites, and Childermass has to rescue him at the last minute every time, and they ride off on Childermass's horse with naked Segundus in Childermass's arms. And then they realize there's a simpler solution. Basically."
> 
> Title from All's Well That Ends Well: "Virginity by being once lost/May be ten times found."

Upon reflection, John Segundus had to admit, it was possible that he had handled the whole thing rather badly. Of course, "the whole thing" here encompassed a number of astoundingly irregular and unlikely events; to wit: an attempted seduction, a kidnapping, an involuntary disrobing, and a great number of jokes at his expense— to which he could not respond, because his mouth had been bound with a calico cloth at the time, or else he certainly would have offered the strongest riposte. He could not imagine that any man would have dealt with such circumstances in a very graceful fashion. Still, perhaps he ought to abjured the lady at the inn a little more strongly when she first made her advances to him, or not been so trusting as to accept the drink she offered when she feared (she said) she had offended him. Or perhaps he ought not to have been so naive as to believe her when she said she was most interested in magic, and if he would accompany her to her lodgings, she had a book that she would most like to show him...

Although that last, at least, had proved true: she was certainly most interested in magic. Her interest in magic had led to Segundus's present state: bound to a hawthorn tree in Yorkshire, wholly naked, preparing to be relieved of his virginity.

A few metres away, the lady and her two male companions were gathered around a fire. They appeared to be engaged in magical work, but given the situation Segundus did not a great amount of compunction about interrupting them.

"Excuse me!" he said loudly. "If you could be so good as to untie me, I really believe it would be best for all concerned! It is quite chilly, and I seem to have ceased to feel my toes. If you consider your stated purpose—"

"We should gag him again," one of the men said.

"I would request that you do not. That would be most disagreeable," Segundus told him. He had, in truth, a profound horror of anything covering his mouth (a phobia whose roots were disappointingly obvious, but nevertheless deep-seated), and it was his evident panic that had caused them to remove the cloth in the first place.

The woman said, "We need him to read part of the spell, though."

"I most certainly am not going to read part of the spell!" Segundus said with what he felt was the appropriate amount of indignation. "And help you to your evil purposes? When you have abducted me and tied me to a tree in the most uncomfortable weather? When you have proposed to commit all manner of indecencies upon my person? No! I will not, madam! You shall receive no assistance at all from me! And furthermore—"

The man who had wished to gag Segundus held up the calico cloth in a menacing manner, and Segundus shut his mouth. Silently, however, he seethed. He had not even known that such villainous magicians existed in England! Individuals who would pervert magic— magic, that practice which Segundus held dear above all other things!— to the base end of achieving wealth and power! Indeed, he felt far more outraged by this idea than by the prospect of being rendered— well—that is to say, being subjected to an act that he did not wholly desire. His body, after all, was a very little matter. But the violation of English magic! That was a far more serious thing!

The woman approached the tree, and Segundus fisted his hands against the ropes. She had a knife in her hand, which was not very comforting, but when she saw his unease she said, "Relax. We're not going to hurt you. We could've done the whole thing nice-like, but you had to be stubborn." Then she nicked Segundus with the blade of the knife: a long thin cut just over his heart, shallow but enough to bleed.

This had a curious effect. He could feel the magic around it, and like many forms of magic it made him rather dizzy. In fact, it made him so dizzy that he rather suspected this had been part of the magic. There also now appeared to be a kind of golden string that connected him to the knife, a string that came from inside him. He did not wish anyone to pull on that string. He had an idea that it would be most uncomfortable if they did. He wondered if there might be a way for him to sever it. This question was so magically interesting that he lost track of most other things that were happening around him.

That being the case, he was very surprised to look up and find that Childermass was standing over him. Childermass! Who was an occasional visitor to Starecross! Who was perhaps the most interesting magician of Segundus's acquaintance! Whom Segundus regarded with perhaps a certain awestruck quality! Who always seemed to regard Segundus in turn as though Segundus were being purposefully contrary simply by existing! Why was Childermass here? Well, it did not really matter, for Childermass would certainly have a great many fascinating things to say about the string.

And indeed, once Segundus had explained the matter ("Mr Childermass!" he greeted him cheerfully. "You will find this a very strange matter, I am sure, but for some reason I have a little golden string coming out of my chest! Amazing, is it not?") Childermass did have a great many fascinating things to say, though many of them were expletives. A minor amount of violence took place, most of which involved Childermass shaking the two men and saying do-you-know-who-I-am and threatening to slit their throats.

He did not slit their throats, of course; one of the men took the knife and used it to cut the little golden string, as well as the ropes that had bound Segundus to the tree. Unfortunately, this resulted in Segundus tumbling forwards onto the ground, because his whole body seemed to be filled with a floating sensation, as though he were a school of small fish or a swarm of bees. He lay with his face in the dirt, contemplating this unusual experience. It was very interesting. He explained it to Childermass when Childermass came back.

"I don't suppose your swarm of bees would like to elevate themselves," said Childermass. "Onto their feet, like."

Segundus considered this. He informed Childermass sadly of his conclusion: "Bees do not have feet."

Childermass sighed at this news. He bent down and took hold of Segundus's wrists. He then proceeded to heave Segundus up and get an arm under his shoulder, so that he could drag him the few feet to where Brewer, Childermass's trusty stallion, was waiting very patiently. Brewer was, Segundus thought hazily, such a fine horse. He was very magnificent and forbidding. In fact he was rather like Childermass. A horse-Childermass. Dimly he was aware of the possibility that he was making these observations aloud. He thought that this was probably a good idea, since Childermass should know how much Segundus admired his horse-counterpart.

"I am becoming aware," Childermass said. "Quite involuntarily. Here is a pair of breeches, which I will thank you to put on."

Segundus achieved this task with much swaying and weaving. The breeches, however, were rather too big for him. He thought they must have belonged to Childermass. He had to hold them up, which made balancing a challenge. But there were greater challenges then, namely that Childermass was setting him upon Brewer, which made Segundus feel even more like a swarm of bees; then he was sliding off Brewer, which Childermass did not approve of, and after that, eventually, they came to the solution that Childermass would hold Segundus close to his own body as he rode, preventing any unfortunate sliding.

Segundus was not opposed to this solution. Childermass was warm, and he was rather cold, and after a while he let his head loll back against Childermass's shoulder, which felt oddly restful and very safe. The rumble of the bees became a contented hum. He thought that for a time he fell asleep.

He was amazed, in quite a vague way, that Childermass tolerated this behavior. After all, Childermass was magnificent and forbidding. But Childermass said nothing, and tucked his overcoat around Segundus, and when they came at last to Starecross, sometime after sunset, he roused him very gently, saying, "Mr Segundus. You are home, sir." Then he helped Segundus from the horse, and all the way through the darkened halls of the house, to his own bed, where he could collapse at last.

"Stay," Segundus said— not very clearly— when Childermass, having deposited him in bed, moved to go. "Don't— no— don't go."

Childermass paused. His face was not visible in the shadowy room. "I must settle Brewer. I left him tied at the gate. It would not do to neglect him; after all, he is magnificent and forbidding."

"Yes," Segundus agreed sleepily. "Your counterpart."

He heard Childermass give a quiet huff of laughter. A hand settled lightly against his head, stroking his hair for the briefest of moments.

"Sleep," Childermass said. "We will speak in the morning, though you will not welcome it."

 _Why would I not welcome it?_ Segundus wondered. But ultimately he accepted this as just another part of a very long, strange twenty-four hours, and by the time Childermass had closed the door to the room behind him, Segundus was already soundly asleep.

* * *

When he woke, he opened his eyes and contemplated the ceiling for a moment before pulling the bedcovers over his head. He wondered if it might be possible to keep the bedcovers over his head for the rest of his life. This would be very inconvenient, but it would prevent him from ever having to face Childermass— an outcome he was currently favouring.

He lay like that for a while, reflecting upon all the poor decisions he had made in his life, and all the mistakes that had been the cause of his current misfortune, and other such gloomy topics, until there was a knock at the door and Childermass's voice said, "Mr Segundus?"

"No," Segundus said, despite the fact that he was manifestly Mr Segundus, and could not very well try to hide it.

There was a quiet sound that might have been a laugh. "You cannot stay in bed indefinitely, sir," said Childermass. "If you will come downstairs, there is tea."

Segundus heard his footsteps receding down the hallway. With a sigh, he folded the bedcovers back from his face and directed his gaze at the ceiling again. He had a terrible feeling that if he began to dress, he would be forcefully reminded of how very _un_ dressed he had been when Childermass had arrived to rescue him. To rescue him! As though he were a damsel in distress! As though he were a very Andromeda, chained upon the rock! It was hardly to be borne!

Then there was the matter of the very shaming things that Childermass almost certainly now believed: that Segundus was— that he had never— with anyone! The thought of this was very nearly as humiliating as the recollection of falling asleep on Childermass's shoulder, or any of the number of idiotic things he had said.

However, he could not see a way around it— Childermass was correct. He could not very well stay in bed forever.

Once he had admitted this, he set himself to the task of arising. As he had rather expected, this confronted him with several unpleasant revelations— he was wearing Childermass's breeches! he was wearing Childermass's breeches because he had been naked in front of Childermass!— but he managed it with a grim and stoic determination. Indeed, by the time he shrugged his coat onto his shoulders, he felt he had achieved a certain unhappy dignity.

This lasted until he entered the dining room and saw Childermass seated at the table, perusing a newspaper and calmly sipping a cup of tea. At this point, all of Segundus's composure collapsed. He flushed deeply and experienced a sudden impulse to slink miserably from the room.

Childermass glanced up at him. "Mr Segundus," he said unreadably. "I trust you are quite recovered."

"I— I am, thank you," Segundus managed. "I—" He could feel the flush climbing his cheeks. "I feel I must—"

"There is no need to thank me," Childermass said. "I cannot very well have every upstart magician blackening the name of magic in Yorkshire. I only regret that the woman ran away. But I dare say those two will take the message to her."

Segundus felt, by the evil glint in Childermass's eye, that he did not want to ask what that message might be. He asked instead, "Have I no recourse to the law? Not that— I mean to say— it would be quite uncomfortable, to say the least, if I were to have to explain the, erm, the _circumstances_ —"

"You do not fancy telling the magistrate you are a virgin," Childermass surmised.

Segundus opened his mouth and stopped, red with humiliation. He had a strong sensation that at any moment he might actually sink through the floor and melt away. This, he thought, would be a great relief. He wondered if he could will it to happen more quickly. "I am not—" he said. "That is— it is not that I have no experience— I have performed certain acts, only— my _inclination_ is such, if you gather my meaning, and— so you see— and I suppose the magical definition must be a very— a very _precise_ one."

"The magical definition is a penetrative one," said Childermass mildly.

Segundus choked. "Is it," he managed after a moment. "Is it indeed."

"To attend on the other question," Childermass continued, as though nothing Segundus had said was very extraordinary, "I have written to those fools in London on the pressing need to appoint some form of magical court, but they do not reply. You may guess as to the reason." His lip curled.

"That is most wrong of them!" Segundus said indignantly. "There is no man I would trust more to advise me on such a matter!"

Childermass had a complicated reaction to this response. He looked as though he had wished to say something very sarcastic, and was surprised to find himself not doing so. "Well," he said at last, still appearing slightly puzzled, "the government do not share your opinion. So I cannot think that any recourse you find will be very great, I fear."

This considerably lowered Segundus's spirits, which had not been very elevated to start with. "I have lost my best waistcoat to those villains," he said forlornly. "And my good green coat as well. It was only a little worn."

"The government will be very shocked, I'm sure, to hear about such savage crimes."

"I know it is not so much," Segundus said, abashed. "Only I have not a great many waistcoats and I was particularly fond of that one."

"You might have lost a great deal more," Childermass pointed out.

"Do you mean my virtue? Do you find yourself concerned for it?" There was— intentionally, he was ashamed to admit— a slightly acid tone to the words. Segundus felt he had suffered his way through more than enough conversation with Childermass about this, and the sense of shame was beginning to curdle in him.

Once again, Childermass looked as though he had meant to make a very different response, and did not quite know how he had ended up making the one he did. "I would not have you hurt," he said. "That is reasonable, surely. You might see fit to take a little more care about it."

This cut, in part because it was so close to the track of Segundus's own previous thoughts, and because those thoughts had come to him at such an unpleasant moment. "Forgive me for being so very careless," he said stiffly. "In future I shall strive to behave more pleasingly."

He bowed slightly and left the room, only realizing halfway up the staircase that he had neglected to so much as drink a single cup of tea.


	2. Chapter 2

_You might see fit to take a little more care,_  Childermass had admonished him. But Segundus had not regarded his words. So of course it was not six weeks later that Segundus, walking through the back streets of Leeds, was coshed over the head and awoke, very dizzy, to find himself bound face-down on a stone table with rope biting into his ankles and wrists. He could not see very much of what was happening around him. He thought that it was night, and he was outdoors, for he could hear little insects chirping in the scrub-grass. He was naked, which did not bode very well, and a fingertip was tracing shapes onto the skin of his back.  
  
"Mmph!" he said. There was no gag covering his mouth, for which he felt at once immensely thankful, but there was one between his teeth. He did not care for this at all, and it made it difficult to protest his current situation. He tried thrashing against his bonds as another means of protest.  
  
"Oh, stop complaining," said a voice above him. "You're not using your virginity, so why shouldn't I? Do you even know how useful a virgin magician is? Don't worry; I promise to make it very special."  
  
"Mrmph!" Segundus managed, by which he meant to communicate that being tied to a stone table as part of a magical ritual was not, so far as he understood it, how the majority of persons preferred to lose their virginity. Also, the voice sounded disagreeably like that of Henry Lascelles, an unpleasant person who was now, deservedly, dead— and Segundus did not fancy the idea of being touched by someone like Henry Lascelles.  
  
The owner of the voice ignored him and continued his work, which appeared to involve the tracing of magical sigils. Segundus could feel them very strangely against his skin. Some of them itched slightly, and others almost burned. One of them was like a knife cutting into his ribcage. He squirmed ferociously in an effort to upset their application, especially when the man reached his inner thighs, which was a rather intimate place to have someone drawing magical sigils. But the man only said, very exasperated, "Hold  _still._  Lord, if I'd've known how much trouble you were—"  
  
Segundus tried very hard (though not very successfully) to kick him for that.  _So what if I am trouble!_  he thought.  _I have a right to be trouble! It's my body, not a magical ingredient!_  And he continued to be as troublesome as possible until the man tightened the ropes rather painfully. After this, Segundus could not move very much, and he could feel the magic beginning, at any rate.  
  
It was a very different sort of the magic than the first ritual had involved. That magic had been sort of sticky-sweet and golden, like someone attempting to entomb him in honey and lemon juice. This magic made him feel very heavy all over, as though he had been filled up with sand when he was not looking, and oh-so-very slow. The slightest touch seemed to last for a thousand years. He could feel every scrape of his skin against the stone table, every fiber of rope against his wrists. It was so peculiar! —but not very pleasant, because nothing very pleasant was happening to him in the first place. He began to experiment with new sensations, like licking the stone table, but while this was an extremely curious sensation, the stone did not have a very enjoyable taste.   
  
He wondered vaguely where the man had gone. Hadn't the man been threatening to do something? Something that Segundus had not really been sold on as an idea. He was more or less indifferent to it now, but the man did not return, and instead— at what seemed a very long time later, but perhaps had only been a matter of minutes; or perhaps it had been a fortnight, or a month; or perhaps they were in Faerie, where time took on entirely other dimensions, so that a man might lie down for a brief nap and return to England to find that centuries had passed in his absence, as was recorded by several reputable historians of the magical past, although Segundus was struggling to recall their names at the moment— Childermass's voice said, "Do not be alarmed. It is only me," and someone untied the gag at the back of his head.  
  
"Why would I be alarmed?" Segundus said vaguely, peering with interest at Childermass. He coughed. His mouth was very dry. He turned his head to stare at Childermass some more. Childermass was dressed in his usual manner, but Segundus had never noticed previously how entrancing the buttons on his waistcoat were. There were so many of them! Each one such a small perfect nub! Embedded in the worn soft cloth of his waistcoat! Would each one feel the same to the touch? Would each one feel slightly different? What would it be like to unbutton one? He wished to embark upon this line of research, but unfortunately he was still tied to the table.   
  
Fortunately, Childermass was already untying one of his wrists. Childermass did not seem pleased to see the rope burn left behind, but Segundus did not mind, because Childermass had wonderful hands. They were so long. He had long, beautiful fingers, each one with a pleasing square tip. His hands were the kind of hands one imagined a magician having, or a musician, someone whose art was in his hands. But Childermass was not precious about his hands; they were always rather dirty, but in a mysterious and appealing manner. Segundus very much wanted to taste them. He was sure they would taste like rocks and rivers and ancient forests. No, they would taste like Hurtfew Abbey, stones from the Raven King's day. Segundus would curl his tongue around every finger, slowly and carefully recording the tastes of each one, and—  
  
"Christ, I wish I'd left the gag in," Childermass said. He was working at the ropes around one of Segundus's ankles.  
  
Segundus realized abruptly that he had regained the use of both his hands, and— after a quick jerk of the remaining ropes— of both of his legs. He rolled over on the table, staring up at the sky. It was very, very blue. It was so blue. Bluer than blue. It was—  
  
Childermass appeared in his field of vision. "Did you have an eye to standing up sometime this century?" he asked.  
  
Segundus frowned at him and reached up to touch his hair. There was a stray strand of it hanging loose by his face. It was soft and rough and smooth and dark and tangled. Segundus curled it around his finger and pulled experimentally.  
  
"No," Childermass said. He disentangled the strand of hair and pulled Segundus to his feet.   
  
This opened the door to a whole new sensual world. There was dirt between his toes, goosepimples on his arms, little drifts of leaves floating by in the breeze... Childermass was tugging an overcoat around him, and that was a dark heavy cloth of a dense weave, and Segundus spent a fascinated minute staring at the sleeve of it, thinking about how amazing cloth was, and where it came from, and how on earth anyone had ever in all of history thought to do such a thing as spinning thread, which, Segundus was not entirely sure he understood the process, indeed he was unsure he had ever seen anyone spin thread, but he was quite certain he would not ever look at a plant or a sheep and imagine it as a coil of thread. And silk! Silk was another matter entirely! Did Childermass know how silk was made?  
  
"We're leaving," Childermass said, neglecting the question. He dragged Segundus towards Brewer. This all felt very familiar, which comforted Segundus. He was not precisely certain why it felt familiar, but this did not worry him. He did not mind, either, that his lack of breeches meant that he was obliged to ride sidesaddle. This allowed him to study Childermass's waistcoat buttons in a great deal of detail, as well as the cloth of Childermass's cravat above them. In fact he found himself untying the cravat, which Childermass tolerated, and then licking the bare throat that lay beneath it, which Childermass did not tolerate.  
  
"No," Childermass said, pulling Segundus's head away in a manner that was faintly painful. "You have enough toys to be getting on with. You may occupy yourself with my buttons. Or, what were you on about, the invention of silk?"  
  
"I do not remember," Segundus said muzzily. He felt hurt and confused. He drooped against Childermass's chest, rubbing his face against Childermass's waistcoat. After a moment, Childermass's arm came up around him.  
  
"You will thank me for it tomorrow," Childermass said. He sounded rather weary.  
  
Segundus did not quite understand this. But he was beginning to go blurry around the edges. He burrowed into his overcoat, and wished fervently to not be on horseback. By the time they arrived at Starecross, he was shivering.  
  
"I do not know why," he complained to Childermass as Childermass herded him towards his bedroom. "It is extremely vexing to me. My own body has turned traitor! A veritable Tarpeia! An Ephialtes! A Robert Barbatus! A— a— I do not say a Brutus or a Cassius, for I cannot argue that those who overthrew Caesar were entirely in the wrong, whatever one may say about Rome's imperial glory; however—"  
  
"Yes," Childermass said. "You have made your point very clearly." He pushed gently at Segundus's shoulders until Segundus lay down on the bed.  
  
"A Talleyrand," Segundus said in a small voice. "A whole series of betrayals, and always getting away with it. Do not go, if you would." He was slowly becoming aware of his own misery. His wrists and ankles felt rubbed raw, and his head ached, and he felt horribly hungover. He could also still feel the magician's touch, tracing sigils onto his skin. He shuddered, and rubbed fretfully at his shoulder.  
  
"There is no magic left," Childermass said quietly. "I made sure."  
  
"Did you kill him?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Perhaps you should have."  
  
Childermass sighed and sat on the bed beside him. "You will not say so in the morning," he said, "though I myself support the sentiment."  
  
Segundus said, "He reminded me of Mr Lascelles."  
  
"That is an apt comparison, I suppose."   
  
After a brief hesitation, and to Segundus's surprise, Childermass shed his coat and lay down on the bed. He was facing Segundus, a little apart. The scar on his cheek looked silver in the dim room. Segundus reached out and touched it with a fingertip. He did not say anything. Childermass did not either. After a while, Childermass reached up and took his hand.  
  
"Sleep," he said.   
  
Segundus slept. He felt, on that horizon just before he did so, Childermass stroking a thumb across his wrist. It was the least touch, feather-light and minimal, but somehow it sparked a revelation in him.  _Oh, I must remember this,_  he thought;  _it is important._  But though it was large and complex and multivalent— though it resonated so loudly through him as to give the impression that somewhere deep in his body he had harboured vaulted ceilings without ever knowing about them— despite this, he could feel it receding.   
  
Oh, well, he reflected. It would not be lost forever. It was in the nature of such revelations that, once half-glimpsed, they must inevitably be discovered again.

* * *

Had he thought about it, Segundus would probably have expected to wake up feeling twice as miserable as he had felt upon falling asleep. There had seemed a distinct downward progression to his mood. But, in fact, though he was aware upon waking of quite a few highly regrettable things he had said or done on the previous day— had he told Childermass that he wanted to taste his fingers? had he  _licked Childermass?_ — he felt so warm, peaceful, and generally content that he could not bring himself to mind very much. Indeed, he could not even bring himself to open his eyes. He curled closer to the source of the warmth and made a pleased sound. Someone drew the bedcovers up over his shoulders. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Childermass was in his bed.

Childermass was watching him with a thoughtful, serious expression, his head propped in the palm of one hand. 

"Oh," Segundus said. He did not quite know how to react to this unforeseen circumstance. He was surprised that his reaction was not to flush and stammer— especially as he appeared to be naked under the bedcovers, having at some point shed the overcoat that alone had protected his modesty. Perhaps it was only that he was still fairly drowsy, but he felt oddly pleased that Childermass was in his bed. When he considered the matter through a comfortable, sleepy haze, he found he was rather in favor of Childermass remaining there.  
  
Somewhat uncertainly, he waited for Childermass to speak.  
  
"I have considered your difficulty," Childermass said, "and the available solutions. You would do best to find some means of deflowerment, I think."  
  
Segundus suddenly felt a great deal less comfortable. He sat up abruptly, clutching the bedcovers to his chest. "What?" he said.  
  
"You must know some gentleman who would oblige you in the matter. I can think of two in the York Society at least who would be very happy to perform such an act."   
  
" _What?_ " For some reason, Segundus's ears were ringing. His mouth had gone very dry. "In the York Society? Who— no, do not tell me who! I do not wish to know! I do not wish to do any such thing!"  
  
Childermass frowned. "It is the simplest remedy. I assume you do not prefer being tied to tables."  
  
"I very much object to being tied to tables! I very much object to both situations! I do not care if it is the simplest remedy! I am not going to— to— to  _solicit company_  in the manner you suggest! It is the most objectionable idea! No! No! No, it is out of the question!"  
  
"You seem to set great stock by the act, for one who has not performed it," Childermass observed.   
  
"I have performed a very plentiful number of acts!" Segundus covered his face with his hands following this exclamation. His cheeks were hot. He could feel his ears burning. "I am not simply going to become  _intimate_  with a man I barely know for such a— a base practical purpose!"  
  
"Well, it is on your shoulders, then." Childermass sounded indifferent, though Segundus could not see his expression. "You must at least undertake to learn some adequate spells. You should not expect that I can rescue you from every cowan in the Ridings—  
  
"I did not ask you to rescue me from anyone!" Segundus said loudly. All of his previous contentment had now fled, and he felt flat, miserable, and filled with shame. "If it is so very great a trouble to you, I would ask you to desist, sir! I would not be a burden upon any man!"  
  
Childermass appeared puzzled by this reaction. "It is no burden," he said. "Only—"  
  
"In fact, I would most specifically ask that you refrain from so inconveniencing yourself in the future!" Segundus very much regretted that, owing to his nakedness, he was forced to deliver this emphatic request while still clutching the bedcovers to himself.  
  
Childermass, by this point, had stood. He seemed quite taken aback, which for Childermass was a bold display of emotion. "You cannot expect me to leave you to whatsoever form of trouble you should manage to ensnare yourself in!"  
  
"Thank you," said Segundus, keeping his voice tightly controlled, "for your very kind efforts on my behalf. However, that is precisely what I should prefer."  
  
A number of unreadable expressions crossed Childermass's face. He pressed his lips together. He had begun to look extremely stormy. "Fine," he said tersely. "I will leave you to it."  
  
He sketched a frigid, very minimal bow, and— without so much as asking for his overcoat back— slammed wordlessly out of the room.  
  
Segundus curled up very tightly into a disconsolate knot and pulled the bedcovers over his head. He could not quite interpret the despondence he was feeling. It reminded him strongly of the effect that the previous day's magic had had on him. At first everything in the world had seemed so pleasant, as though all of it had been mysteriously and subtly made new, or as though a little door had opened where Segundus had not seen a door before, and strange horizons of happiness had opened when he went through. But gradually he had perceived that he was wrong, and there was nothing new at all, and the door had been a fiction inside his head, and it had seemed the saddest thing in the world to him that this should be the case. That he should have deceived himself into believing there was such a door. Then the misery had come, as it was doing now.   
  
He felt he had known this feeling many times before, in an array of guises. One felt that the world extended its hand, only to slip and fall while reaching for it. There was never any money, any luck, any great esteem. It did one no good to dwell on it. The only option was to put on a very brave face and pull oneself upright again.   
  
Still he allowed himself to indulge, for just this one moment, an unhappiness that was profound and very pure.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next two weeks, Segundus threw himself into his work with Mr Honeyfoot. They were chiefly occupied in recruiting students for their school at this time. The difficulty was not at all in cultivating enthusiasm, but in determining which students might suit one another, as it came to both their temperaments and their skills. To this end, Segundus spent a great deal of time travelling about England, conducting interviews. Following his confrontation with Childermass, it was very appealing to him to spend a large amount of time trudging across moors, riding horses through Cumbria, or dozing through rattling stagecoach trips. The first of these was especially satisfying, as it allowed him to dig savagely at the ground with his walking stick whenever he fell into a particularly grim mood. Sometimes he was also able to give a stone a good kick, while imagining that it was Childermass's hat. This worked wonders upon Segundus's disposition.

Towards the end of October, he was making his way home from Scarborough, where he had interviewed a most promising young student: a girl of fourteen whom he thought would get on exceedingly well with Miss Redruth, as the two of them shared similar qualities of ferociousness. He had assured the girl's family that Starecross would be most happy to take her, but there had been so many questions about the arrangements and the proprieties, and then questions from the young lady herself on various magical matters, and with this and that and the other thing, Segundus had set out much later than he had planned. He found himself waiting for a coach at an inn in Scagglethorpe, feeling very tired and very ready to be home again.

Therefore, when a stranger remarked on his apparent weariness, and offered him a drink to counter it, Segundus was most willing to be thus plied, and was rather touched by the man's kindness. He drank the brandy very fast, and realized the magnitude of his mistake when he staggered to his feet and the world began spinning around him.

"Oh, no," he said, not because he felt very queasy, but because: "not _again."_

Yes: again. The kind stranger was only too happy to help Segundus from the inn, and indeed— with the help of a wooden cart and a female companion— to help Segundus out of Scagglethorpe altogether, to a small stone cottage on the bank of the River Derwent. 

Segundus was not conscious of a great deal of this journey, as he was huddled in the cart with his hands and feet bound, trying very hard not to be sick. He had, upon Childermass's advice, hateful though it was, attempted to learn spells that might prove useful in an eventuality such as this, but it was surprisingly difficult to summon them in such a situation. He did manage to make himself briefly invisible, but this did not actually solve any of his most pressing problems. He turned his hat into a clothing iron, which he supposed he could use as a weapon, but in fact he had meant to turn it into a mirror through which he could access the King's Roads. He also turned a sackful of apples— with which he was sharing the cart— into a sackful of cabbages, but this was entirely a mistake, since by this point his kidnappers had noticed the magic and drugged him again.

At least, he thought philosophically when they reached the cottage, there would be a bed this time. For they were tying him to a bed. It was quite a cozy bed, with a gingham counterpane. They hadn't even taken more than his coat off yet. Then the woman magician reached for some scissors.

"Please do not cut my clothes off," Segundus said rather forlornly. "At this rate I shall have no waistcoats left. Have you any idea of the cost of a waistcoat?"

The woman grimaced. "Sorry," she said. She did, in fact, seem sorry. "Can't trust you to take them off yourself. Tell you what, I'll only cut it along the shoulders. Then you can sew it up again."

"No," Segundus said sadly. "It will not look the same."

The woman patted him on the head. "Sorry, love. Business is business."

"I am not business!" he protested. "I am a person!"

But she still cut his clothes off, very efficiently, and when her partner returned, they began laying out various magical tools. Segundus could not help but wonder where all of these magicians found the spells that they were using. He himself had never encountered such a sinister spell. He thought he must be a very dull and respectable person. Or perhaps he was simply a very poor magical scholar. This idea was very dispiriting.

In fact it was so dispiriting, and he was feeling so queasy still, and he was so acutely aware that he could expect no rescue, and that very unpleasant things were going to happen to him— more, that he was going to be used to do unpleasant things, which was somehow obscurely worse— that he gave up slightly, and watched without any real interest as the woman painted a symbol onto his chest. This symbol did not have an effect that he could particularly feel, but he imagined it did not bode well for him. He was similarly unaffected when the woman took a very small knife and sliced his palm open with it, collecting the blood that welled up and ran.

Segundus shut his eyes and thought resolutely about his own bedroom at Starecross. There was a new magical periodical on his desk, which he had forgotten to slip into his briefcase before he left for Scarborough. The  _Revolutions of English Magic_ , it was called. A Strangeite publication out of Edinburgh. He was looking forward to reading it soon. And Childermass's overcoat was draped on his armchair. He had really meant to give it back, but he had not quite known how to do so, as Childermass did not care to have a fixed address. Segundus thought now hazily that he would not mind slipping it on and curling himself up in it, possibly in front of a rather large fire.

Someone backhanded him across the face, and he gasped in shock.

"Stay awake," the man said sharply. 

Behind him, the woman made an apologetic face, as though to say, Well, what can you do, and as Segundus was still reeling from the force of the blow, the door behind them exploded in.

What followed was extremely confusing. Childermass was there, and he was talking a great deal in an icy tone of voice about the king's justice, and then the man who had struck Segundus was brandishing a poker, but Childermass looked at it dismissively and it turned into ash. At some point there seemed to be a raven in the room, and Segundus thought that perhaps it had come out of the ash. Or perhaps it was sitting on Childermass's shoulder. Perhaps it had come in with him. Segundus was not quite sure, because everything was spinning. But the man and woman sat cowed in the corner while Childermass cut loose Segundus's feet and hands.

Segundus sat up and immediately regretted this decision. A great white wave of dizziness rose up from the room around him. But he did not pass out, and in a moment, he perceived that Childermass was binding up his wounded hand with a strip of what had once been his shirt. 

Childermass glanced up at him. He said shortly, "Can you stand?"

"Yes," Segundus said, "but if I do, I will be sick."

His prediction was very accurate, though he made it into his coat and breeches and even a few steps outside the door before he was violently sick into a patch of moor-grass. Childermass did not say anything. He stood and waited till Segundus had caught his breath, and then said very neutrally, "Can you ride?"

Segundus nodded miserably and allowed himself to be helped onto Brewer. Childermass sat behind him, as before: a warm steady presence at his back. 

As they were setting out, Segundus said stupidly, through an uncomfortable thickness in his throat, "She cut up my waistcoat, after I asked her not to."

Childermass made an odd noise at this. It did not quite sound like a noise of pain, but neither did it sound like a laugh. He pressed his face against Segundus's shoulder for an instant. He said hoarsely, "I am sorry for it."

They did not speak again for the duration of the ride. When they reached Starecross, Childermass dismounted, but when he had seen that Segundus was steady on his feet, he declared himself to have business elsewhere.

Segundus did not believe this. But he felt so ashamed of having put Childermass to so much trouble— he felt so wearied by the impossibility of his  _not_  putting Childermass to trouble— and so generally small and exhausted and inert that he could not argue it. Instead he said in a defeated voice, "I am so very sorry. I hope I have not inconvenienced your... business too much."

Childermass looked at him for a long time. It was an unreadable look that seemed rather complicated. "It is no inconvenience," he said. "Get some rest. I will send word, if that is permissible." 

Segundus nodded dumbly. He did not quite know how to respond. He watched as Childermass mounted up again and rode off into the white dawn light. When the smallest shape of horse and rider had been lost on the horizon, he wearily took himself to bed: first scrubbing off the last remnants of the hateful sigil that the woman had drawn on his chest, then cleaning and washing the cut on his hand before re-binding it. Lastly, and with some hesitation, feeling as though he ought not to be doing this, he took Childermass's overcoat from off of his armchair and wrapped it around himself. It smelt of soot and stone and pipe tobacco, and a little of some wilder scent: juniper and moor-golds and bracken. This was so enormously comforting to him that he fell asleep still wrapped in the coat, and dreamed a number of vague but not unpleasant dreams about being on horseback.

* * *

Following this incident, Segundus purchased himself a small pocket-mirror, and resolved not to leave the house without it. He also spent three days in search of some more useful spells, but was forced to conclude, at this search's end, that English magic was a highly complicated and specific framework. He could, he believed, if he so required, coax a tree to grow up from the ground in an instant, ask a river to divert its course, or convince a stone to split, but he did not think he could stop himself being kidnapped. In theory, he supposed that he could invite ivy to seize his captors, or branches to grow up through them, or even ask the ground to swallow them whole. But despite what he had said to Childermass about wishing the man with the stone table dead, he did not really have the heart to do any of these things. He thought that all of them would be very severe things to ask, even of ivy and stones and earth and so forth, and he could not quite imagine that these large and elemental forces would ever judge him to be worth such acts.  
  
When he went into York for the monthly meeting of the Revived Learned Society of Magicians, he was amazed— though, truth to tell, a little frustrated— to find that one of the topics for discussion was Childermass. Childermass himself was not in attendance. Perhaps this was because he had been very busy indeed; it transpired that he had gone to London and given a speech rallying dissent against Lord Sidmouth, who was the current and very unpopular Home Secretary. He had written several articles for the radical newspapers arguing the need for magical courts, and invoking John Uskglass's laws. This was calculated to set Lord Sidmouth frothing, as it was his brief to deal with the Johannite rebellions and any question of Northern English home rule.   
  
" _Childermass_  did this?" Segundus asked, astonished.  
  
Oh, yes, the magicians assured him. They showed him copies of the articles, which were very witty and scathing and sounded exactly like Childermass. The articles were full of very erudite discussions about the historical practice of magical law, and made oblique references to the modern testament of John Uskglass. Segundus wondered if the ministers in London had met the modern testament of John Uskglass.   
  
The members of the York Society were divided as to their opinion of these events. All were, generally speaking, in favour of some regulation of magic; however, some of them were firmly anti-Johannite in their sympathies, and in general uncomfortable with the notion that they were subjects of John Uskglass, however in absentia he might be. Others simply disliked Childermass as a person, or were suspicious of his Norrellite history.  
  
Segundus left the meeting feeling rather dazed and not very happy. The unpleasant thought had occurred to him that his own misfortunes seemed to form a convenient part of a political case, and that possibly Childermass had gone about rescuing him because it fitted so well into his larger goals. This was a very crushing theory. However, it seemed deflatingly reasonable. Segundus could not otherwise account for Childermass's acts. Childermass had no reason to view Segundus with particular interest at all, much less to go to such trouble to rescue him.  
  
So it was in a mood of some despondence that he returned to Starecross— only to find that while he had been away, someone had left a parcel on the doorstep. This was extremely puzzling, as Segundus was not expecting any parcels, and he was the house's only permanent resident. (Mr Honeyfoot and his wife lived in the village of Starecross, and there was a local housekeeper who came at the week-ends.) However, it was nothing so puzzling as the items that the parcel proved to contain, which— when Segundus had unwrapped it— proved to be two very fine waistcoats, one of a fawn colour and the other a charming light green. These were exactly the colours that Segundus favoured, and both waistcoats were made perfectly to his measurements.  
  
It would have been nonsensical to deny their origin. Despite the fact that no source of any kind was indicated, it was quite obvious that they had come from Childermass.  
  
So overwhelmed was Segundus that he simply sat for a long moment, staring at the two waistcoats. He looked up and then looked back at them, as though they might have disappeared the instant that he took his eyes off them. Yet there they remained: real, and tangible, and lovely.   
  
"And I cannot even thank him!" Segundus said aloud. Though he did not know what he would have said to Childermass had this not been the case. He felt in that moment almost angry at his own insufficiency, as he perceived it; at how absurdly little he felt he had done or could ever do to deserve this gift, any of his gifts.


	4. Chapter 4

There followed a number of upsetting incidents.   
  
The first of these occurred a week and a half later, and involved Starecross's front gate being enchanted such that the moment Segundus touched it he became compelled to walk until he reached the enchantment's author, who was waiting a good distance away. The most troubling part of this was that he was quite aware of the enchantment, but could not seem to remove it in any way; it was as though his body simply proceeded without his permission— trudging indifferently through fields of moor-grass, wading straight through shallow streams, while Segundus himself pushed and shoved at the insides of his skin, trying desperately to make it obey.  
  
The enchantment did not cease, either, when he reached the magician (who proved, much later, to be descended from fairies, and who rather looked it, with his extraordinary eyes and his cruel lips): Segundus was quite unable to resist doing anything he wanted. Fortunately, at that stage, all that the magician wanted was for Segundus to undress and to read aloud a series of Latin incantations. Segundus recognized the incantations, in fact; they were gathered from a series of incomplete texts by the pseudo-Oldcastle, in which they were related as examples of witchcraft. As much as he resented being made to read them out, he resented the shoddy scholarship no less; if the man did not have some unknown and more complete source, then he could hardly have understood the spell in its proper context! The known fragments contained a number of cruces! It was the merest knifeplay in the dark to make something of them!  
  
His outrage allowed him a brief respite from panic, and though the magician himself then began to undress, which suggested that things were about to become extremely unpleasant, Childermass arrived shortly after that. There then ensued the standard quantity of threats, which Childermass made very threatening indeed. The magician's first response was to threaten in turn that he could cause Segundus to cut his own throat, or to break each of the bones in his hands, but when Childermass reminded him that the most secure means of ending an enchantment was to arrange the magician's death, he very quickly abandoned this tactic and released Segundus with a Latin command.   
  
"I wasn't going to do him any harm," the young man said sullenly, as Segundus collapsed onto the earth, heaving air in. "I just wanted to see what would happen."  
  
Childermass leaned in very close to the young man at that point, and Segundus did not hear what he said to him, but from the look on the young man's face and the speed at which he departed, Segundus very much doubted he would be trying such a thing again.  
  
He was leaning against a large stone when, having seen the young man off, Childermass approached him. "Are you all right, then?" he asked.   
  
Segundus tipped his head back against the stone. He shut his eyes. "I think," he said carefully, "I need to do a good bit of violence to something. Preferably something large."  
  
"I know of a school that has a fair bit of brambles."  
  
"Those are intentional, as you are well aware. The magical properties—" His voice died. He could not quite make the transition to talking of something so lighthearted as this.   
  
Childermass studied him for a moment. He reached out a hand. After a brief hesitation, Segundus let himself be pulled to his feet. He went to where his clothes lay discarded amidst a patch of bracken. Feeling oddly self-conscious— Childermass had perhaps seen more of him naked than anyone that Segundus had known— he dressed: shirt, stockings, breeches, waistcoat—  
  
"Oh," he said. He stood staring stupidly at the waistcoat. His hands had clenched in its light-green fabric.   
  
"What is it?" Childermass asked.  
  
"Nothing. Only I think— if he had tried to cut it off me, I would have turned his own scissors on him." This was absurd, of course, but nevertheless he felt it deeply.   
  
"You have always been disturbingly attached to your waistcoats."  
  
"No, I mean—" He looked up helplessly. His eyes met Childermass's eyes. He did not know what to say. Perhaps he did not need to say anything.  
  
The moment passed.  
  
Childermass helped him to remove the enchantment on the gate— it required the efforts of both of them— then, when Segundus offered him tea, claimed to be needed at a meeting in York.  
  
"Are you a politician now?" Segundus asked him, thinking of the articles, the speech.  
  
This question made Childermass laugh. "Me! a politician! I'd like to see the government's faces! England has not changed so much as that."   
  
"But you are something," Segundus said.  
  
"Yes; something."   
  
He mounted Brewer and tipped his hat to Segundus as he departed. "Since you do not heed my advice, and I do not heed your requests, I suppose we will see each other again."  
  
Segundus went inside. The urge to do violence had passed. He did not know quite what to feel in its stead.

* * *

 

Then three nights later, walking home from the village, sometime between the start of night and the fall of dusk, a voice called out to him from the shadows beside the road— just a little up ahead.  
  
"Hello?" the voice cried. It was the voice of a child. "Is there someone there? I have caught my ankle in the ditch! I'm afraid of the dark!"  
  
It was the most transparent of deceptions. Segundus thought that when he looked at the shadows he could even see a faint trace of magic upon them— though at night it was hard to tell, in Yorkshire, where such a thing as "magic" properly began.  
  
Still the voice went on crying, a steady stream of childish terror, and he could not help but imagine the child in the ditch: surrounded by all the things she most feared, and powerless to run away from them. There were many wise men in the world who could have walked on, and no one would have faulted them, but John Segundus was not among their number.  
  
He whispered an Aegis under his breath as he drew near to the shadows. Only he did not precisely draw near— he was approaching the shadows, but they were still a little ways beyond him. They were a bit further than he had expected. Just a bit. With every step he worried less about this matter. It was, after all, normal for shadows to recede before a man; did they not do so all the time? It was perfectly natural. Of course they did. Segundus smiled foolishly at his own paranoia, to have thought there was anything peculiar about it. People always followed shadows across moonlit fields, the rime of ice crackling beneath their shoes, towards a forest which was both there and not there, so that it was very... troubling... for them... to look... at it...  
  
Segundus blinked in confusion and shook his head. It was really very perplexing. He knew that the forest was perfectly safe, but at the same time it seemed rather insistently not to exist. This discordance gave him a sense of tooth-ache. He reached out with a vague hand to touch where he thought a tree-trunk should be. He touched... something. It felt a great deal more like skin than a tree-trunk, but then again not exactly like skin. A slowly growing sense of dread informed him that he ought to find this more disturbing than he seemed to.  
  
But it was very hard not to enter the forest at this point. Someone in the forest was calling out to him. It was not the child-voice from before. This was a voice that knew his name, and it had a number of extremely un-child-like things it wanted to do to him. Things that he had not done before; things that the voice wished to teach him. He did not want this, exactly, but he was not able to not want it, so that even when he heard Childermass say, "You bloody idiot!" and felt Childermass pulling him bodily backwards, he was still trying to enter the forest.  
  
Gradually it seemed to dawn on him that Childermass was there, and that Childermass was very angry at him, and a slow sense of humiliation, like a seed-case in his chest, began to crack and spread roots of shame through his ribs.  
  
"Oh," he said faintly.  
  
"Yes, bloody  _oh!_ " Childermass snarled. He released his grip on Segundus's arms.  
  
Segundus looked around. They were in the midst of a fallow rye field. He thought he recognized it. It was not, in fact, very far from Starecross Hall. The night had grown very cold, and as soon as he realized this, he began to shiver badly.  
  
"Can you not," Childermass said, "go three days without wandering off into some sort of peril? Are there so few virgins in the entirety of Yorkshire that every would-be despoiler in Northern England, fairies included, is obliged to set his sights on you? Or is it that no other virgin is so mortally foolish?"  
  
He was breathing hard. Segundus had never seen him so visibly distressed. He had never seen him so visibly anything. Segundus did not know how to respond. He felt himself slowly dissolving into a mute, miserable vapour. "I'm sorry," he said almost inaudibly.   
  
Childermass closed his eyes and stepped away for a moment. "I am baffled," he said, "baffled as to why you will not do what is necessary. Is it so very hard to find a man to suit your tastes? There are certainly plenty who would accomplish the business. I am sure that I myself could see fit to do it if the need were so very very dire."  
  
Segundus sucked in a shaky breath.  
  
It took him a moment to fully reassemble himself into a person who knew how walking was meant to work. Then he turned his back on Childermass and began to walk in the direction of Starecross. His hands, in the pockets of his coat, were fists. He heard Childermass call out after him, but he could not really perceive the words. He thought that if he stopped walking now, something terrible would happen. Possibly his skeletal structure would fall apart, and then there would be no more John Segundus, only arms, fingers, teeth, ribs. Or a hole in the ground might open up beneath him, and he would fall straight into it; and wasn't that where  _brughs_  were meant to be, in some unclear geography of the world? He had never understood, as a child, where all of them could fit, because he could not imagine how deep the earth could be. How very far it was possible to sink.  
  
When he reached the house, he did not trouble to light any candles. He crawled, still fully clothed, straight into his bed and lay there for a long time without sleeping.  _It does no good,_  he reminded himself, to dwell on it.  _You have to put on a very brave face and pull yourself upright again._  But it did not comfort him very much, and by the time sleep found him, the pain was still there, like a stone at the center of his chest.

* * *

Things are always better in the morning, of course, and Segundus presumed this was no exception, though it did not really feel so very much better. It was, he told himself, not as though he had ever presumed— he had never even let himself think about it _seriously_. Childermass was not even his friend, much less— Only Segundus supposed that when one had been so very naked in front of another person, naked in most ways that a person could be, in there was a hope that they might look at you and find you desirable, worth loving— not in spite, but in the act of your nakedness. That was the human condition, wasn't it? That persistent hope.  
  
Thoughts like this made him very tired, so he tried to stay away from them. Instead he worked on an article for the  _Partisans of English Magic_  about alterations that had been observed in England's dreams since the restoration of English magic, and how this related to Aureate views on sleep and dreaming. It was slow work that required a great deal of effort. He spent almost the entirety of two days on it, ambling into the village at lunch-times to confer with Mr Honeyfoot.   
  
On the second day, Mr Honeyfoot said hesitantly, "You— are feeling more yourself, I hope?" Then, at Segundus's questioning look: "You seemed, I thought, perhaps a trifle melancholic."  
  
"I feel certain I am on the rise," Segundus said— a rather aspirational statement.  
  
On the third day, he left Starecross on the very same errand. When he reached the bottom of the lane, a carriage was just passing. It slowed and stopped. It was relatively common for carriages and riders to become lost in these rural, crooked lanes, so Segundus went to offer his aid.   
  
A hand came out of the carriage and pressed a cloth to his mouth. The totality of his ensuing panic did not allow him to contemplate the cloth's distinct laudanum scent, nor the implications of the event at all, before darkness seized him. He pictured it with greedy hands.


	5. Chapter 5

When he woke, Childermass was there. This seemed very strange to him. Then again, he was not sure that he was not dreaming. He appeared to be in very grand bedroom, for one— the kind with silk curtains and little gilt furnishings. There was a strong stench of magic all around him. It was made him queasy. It was sweet and revolting, like heavy flowers and poisonous leaves. This was because he was covered in vines. They were growing all over him: sharp little threads that knotted his wrists tight against the bedposts before tangling across his narrow shoulders like a dense, malevolent fisherman's net. Childermass was hacking at them with a penknife, muttering spells under his breath. This was so absurd and so transparently symbolic that Segundus perceived at once that it must be a dream.

"Why did you," he tried to say to Childermass, because it seemed perfectly reasonable to ask a character in a dream those questions which you cannot pose to their real counterpart. But his mouth was not working properly. It was very slow and stupid, and he became frustrated with it. He tried to thrash his arms against the vines to express his frustration, but his arms were not working properly either, and he reached such a peak of frustration in the end that he shut his eyes and went back to sleep.

* * *

When he woke, Childermass was there. This seemed very strange to him. He could not decide if he was dreaming; he was mostly naked and on a horse, which— unfortunately— was a fairly frequent occurrence in his life, though it would also not have been out of place in a dream. He was leaning against Childermass, which was very comfortable, though he had a vague idea that it ought not to be.

He squinted up at Childermass. "How is it that you always know where to find me?" he asked, because it seemed perfectly reasonable to ask a character in a dream those questions which you cannot pose to their real counterpart, and it seemed so unlikely that Childermass was there, and warm, and comfortable that he was now almost certain this was a dream.

Childermass glanced down at him. His mouth did something peculiar. It was an expression that almost looked like relief. Of course, Segundus was seeing it upside down. He did not know how that affected the matter.

"I have my ways," Childermass said.

Segundus considered this answer. It was not really an answer. He said, "That is not really an answer."

"No," Childermass said. "Go back to sleep."

And since it was a dream, and since Childermass was warm and comfortable and was pressing his lips to the top of Segundus's head, Segundus decided that he would, and did so.

* * *

When he woke, Childermass was there. This seemed very strange to him. He wondered vaguely, _Am I dreaming?_ He did not think he had ever wondered this in real life— real life had very different properties to a dream— so he concluded that he probably was dreaming. It was, though, a very peculiar sort of dream, which consisted chiefly of Childermass attempting to coax him up the stairs of Starecross.

"I cannot carry you," Childermass said.

This seemed like a highly meaningful statement. Segundus stopped to ponder it. He was very cold, though, because he was only wearing a coat. This seemed highly meaningful as well. However, the meaning was all a great deal more complex than _in hoc signo vinces_ , and he did not think this was very fair to him. This observation itself, concerning unfairness, seemed highly meaningful. A great many things that had happened recently had struck Segundus as unfair. Possibly the dream was referring to all of them.

"You said something horrible to me," he said to Childermass.

"I did not mean to," Childermass said wearily. "Please climb the stairs."

"I do not remember what it was," Segundus said. He was also not certain if it had really happened, or if it too had been a dream. He continued climbing the stairs with a sense of slow fascination. He had almost reached the top when he became very drowsy, and since he was dreaming, and thus did not particularly care about the stairs, he decided to lie down and go to sleep.

* * *

When he woke, Childermass was there. This seemed very strange to him. He was in his bed at Starecross, but he did not recall how he had come to be there. He did not remember going to sleep. He certainly did not remember Childermass being there. Yet there he was: asleep in a chair beside the bed. Segundus gazed at him curiously.

"Why do I smell so strongly of magic?" he said aloud.

The smell clung in the manner of smoke to him. It smelled like opium, but heavier, and drooping and green. It made him think of plants that ate insects, and islands in the Caribbean. Something about these thoughts made him feel extremely panicked. He supposed he had once again done something very stupid, but he could not bring himself to dwell on what exactly this had been. He let his attention slide back to Childermass, who looked extremely tired. Childermass had once slept next to him, he remembered; and he had been happy, and he had thought— but now it did not matter.

He curled himself around his pillow and slept.

* * *

When he woke, Childermass was there. This seemed very strange to him. He was in his bed at Starecross, but he thought he might be dreaming, because he did not remember going to bed. He certainly did not remember Childermass being there. Yet there he was: slouched in Segundus's armchair in his shirtsleeves, looking rather tired, reading a book about the magic of Thomas Godbless.

Segundus watched him for a moment, feeling frustrated by the entire scenario. "But why did you give me waistcoats?" he asked.

Childermass raised an eyebrow. He said, "You will have to supply me with some further context."

"I suppose it does not matter anymore. Since you find me contemptible."

Childermass lowered the book and looked at him. It was a very complicated look. Chiefest among the emotions in it seemed to be sadness. "I do not find you contemptible," he said. "I am very fond of you. It is more of a trial than you seem to think."

"You are only saying that because I am dreaming," Segundus accused him.

"You are not dreaming. You were caught in some unpleasant magic. And you were given a great deal of laudanum beforehand."

"Why?" Segundus asked, baffled.

Childermass sighed. "Why do you think? Do you not remember?"

"No," Segundus said. He did have a vague thought about vines and knives, which made him shudder, but he could not seem to connect it to anything, and almost immediately afterwards he felt very drowsy, and felt himself falling back to sleep.

* * *

When he woke, Childermass was there. He had a sense that this should feel strange to him, but in fact it felt like what he had expected— which in itself, he thought, was very strange. He tried to puzzle out this line of thinking— was he dreaming? perhaps he was dreaming— but it was very hard to concentrate on it, because Childermass was sitting beside his bed at Starecross, looking very tired and holding his hand.

"You were here before," Segundus said uncertainly. He did not move, because he did not want Childermass to stop holding his hand.

"Yes," Childermass said.

"But I do not remember." He did not feel particularly worried by this, though he thought he ought to. He frowned at Childermass. "Why are you here?"

"You could not be left alone. You were affected by magic."

"No," Segundus said. He struggled to hold onto the thought. It kept wanting to turn into some other thing, possibly a leaf or a small gilt table. "That is not what I meant. I told you to stop rescuing me."

"It was not a request I could honour."

"I do not understand why."

"I know," Childermass said.

Segundus was feeling very drowsy now. He thought he was probably half-dreaming. When he blinked, the world around him swam. But he was cross with Childermass, and he said hazily, "You have always been unnecessarily cryptic, sir. I should not have given you my heart. I should not have..."

He could not recall what he should not have done. He slipped back into sleep.

* * *

When he woke, Childermass was there, and something was wrong. Something terrible was about to happen to him. He thrashed against the bedcovers. He had an idea that there were vines crawling all over him: vines tangling in his hair, growing over his mouth, growing into his mouth, so he could not speak. The horror of it was like a physical substance, a bitter juice inside his veins that made his skin and muscles writhe as though they could escape from him. He clawed and clawed at his face. Someone was coming to cut his heart out. They had told him. They would reach in and pull his still-beating heart out of the wet envelope of his chest, and—

Childermass had pinned his hands against the bed. "Easy," he said. "Easy. You are safe."

"No," Segundus said, squirming under him. "No, they were going to—"

"Yes. I know. You are safe. Do you trust me?"

Segundus stared up at him. Childermass's hair was hanging loose around his face. He looked very haggard. His collar was open, and he was in his shirtsleeves. It was the most undressed, Segundus thought, that he had ever seen Childermass. What a curious thought. What a curious thing. He wondered if perhaps he were dreaming. He thought he probably was.

"Of course I trust you," he said. "I wanted you to stay."

Childermass frowned at him in confusion.

"In my bed," Segundus said—impatiently, since he thought this ought to have been obvious, especially if Childermass were part of his dream. "I wanted you to stay," he said. "But now it does not matter, because you find me contemptible."

Childermass closed his eyes. He released Segundus's wrists and, after a very long pause, slumped to lie beside him on the bed. He covered his face with his hands for a moment. He seemed very deeply tired. "I am sorry," he said. "I cannot—"

Then he was reaching out for Segundus's body and huddling himself around it: like a wild fox hungry for warmth in the winter, starved for the sun and its steady heat. He buried his head at Segundus's shoulder, his breath a damp and thready trace, and was asleep almost at once.

Segundus felt vaguely confused, but at the same time it seemed very natural to him that the two of them should come to rest in such a position. He laced Childermass's fingers tightly with his own where Childermass's hand lay at his waist. He felt they were conserving something in the press of their bodies— an exhaustible resource he could not name, but which was precious and necessary for survival.

It occurred to him that he was not dreaming, but no sooner had he had this thought then he was dreaming, for he had slipped once more under the surface of sleep.

* * *

When he woke, Childermass was there. He knew this before he opened his eyes, because he could smell the faint scent of tobacco and juniper, wool and bitter herbs and soot. There was a warm breathing weight against his body. He thought he wasn't dreaming, but he wanted to make sure— so he shifted a little.

Childermass was sleeping beside him. There was something worried in his face. Waking, he always seemed so assured. There was a distance between what he felt and revealed. Now that distance had been erased, and a whole landscape of care revealed itself. His eyes flickered fast below their lids. He frowned as though he could not understand his dreams.

For a long time, Segundus was content to watch him. He thought he could have watched him for an eternity. He did not think he would grow tired of it. Besides, when he threatened to move too much, Childermass— without waking— clutched hard at his arm.

But eventually a bird called quite loud by the window, and the sound of Childermass's breathing changed, and he blinked at Segundus with a nonplussed expression.

"Hello," Segundus whispered. He was not quite sure what to say.

Childermass drew in a breath and let it out. He reached up a hand and laid it heavily against Segundus's face. "Do you know where you are?" he asked.

Segundus nodded.

"And how do you feel?"

Segundus considered. He said, "I am very hungry."

"You should be. You have not eaten these three days and more." Childermass had not moved his hand from Segundus's face. He was gazing at him very steadily with a kind of look that seemed to want to drink him in.

"Three days!" Segundus said in a tone of disbelief. "I remember... It was very confusing." He frowned. "Did someone try to _sacrifice_ me?" He was not sure if he had imagined this or not.

Childermass said very intensely, "No one is going to hurt you. I will not permit it."

"Oh," Segundus said. He thought he should possibly not feel reassured by this statement, implying as it rather did that someone _might_ have tried to sacrifice him, and that his memories of worrying that his heart was going to be cut out could not wholly, therefore, be dismissed. This did not in fact prevent him from feeling reassured. Still— he said, "I think you will be disappointed. People hurt me quite often. It is the most ordinary thing, being hurt. We cannot all be invulnerable beings, as you—"

He had meant to say _seem to be_ , but he could not say it, because Childermass was kissing him. It was an altogether startling and extraordinary moment. At first he did not know what to do about it. He seemed to have forgotten how to use his hands, or else they had stopped obeying him, or else he had forgotten how to do anything else except be kissed by Childermass. This seemed reasonable: Childermass was so very serious about the matter, as though he never done anything that required so much of his attention as kissing Segundus did. It was difficult to think under such scrutiny— not to mention the touch of Childermass's lips, which were fiercely insistent and very warm, and seemed to have a voltaic power that shivered under Segundus's skin.

He was kissing back before he consciously chose the action. It was at once the most chaste and unchaste kiss he had ever enjoyed. He brought his hands up to Childermass's hair, which was very untidy and tangled with sleep, and touched the stray little tendrils of it. Wonderingly, he laid a hand at Childermass's collar and touched the very warm skin there. And Childermass went on kissing him slowly, until they were both entirely out of breath.

Even then, they lay so close that their lips were touching.

"I am not invulnerable," Childermass said. He sounded resigned to it. "You make me weak."

Segundus said unhappily, "That does not sound very pleasant."

"It is and it isn't." His hand was stroking along Segundus's cheekbone.

"I do not want to be unpleasant."

Childermass looked as though he were in pain. "I cannot bear the thought of you being hurt. I would rather it were done to me. I cannot be hurt, not— I think sometimes that you are the woundable part of myself."

"Oh," Segundus said in a very small voice.

"I do not ask for anything. You see that it would be better if—"

Segundus said on a flare of something close to anger, "I do _not_ see! It would be better if I bedded some York magician merely because he would go to bed with me? Because he would _accomplish the business,_ and you would no longer be bothered—"

" _Yes_ ," Childermass said. "Because you would be safe, because it would be that simple. What I have to give you is not simple."

"The fact that I am simple does not mean that my wants are simple!" Segundus's voice was slightly shaking. "The fact that I am— that I am small and ordinary and dull does not mean I must want small, dull, ordinary things! I have as much capacity for— for— for _moreness_ as any man, and I do not see why—"

He had to stop then; Childermass had taken his face in both hands. "You are not small," said Childermass fiercely, "or dull, or simple— of all the ludicrous—"

"Then do not act as though I am!" Segundus was astonished to find himself capable of such volume. He would not have thought he could silence Childermass.

And yet Childermass was silenced. He continued to look at Segundus in a complicated and unreadable manner. "All right," he said quietly at last. He leant forwards and touched his lips to Segundus's forehead.

Segundus said rather plaintively, "I do not know what that means. Have I won? I am very hungry, and also tired, though I cannot see how it is possible that I could be tired, and it seems like it is only fair that just this once I should be allowed to win."

Childermass dropped his head to Segundus's shoulder and laughed. It was a defeated laugh, Segundus thought, and a weary laugh, but it was a laugh nevertheless; and when he lifted his head again he did not look unhappy.

"All right," he said. "All right. Let us go and find you some prizes."


	6. Chapter 6

The real prize came a great deal later— long after they had foraged for bread and cheese in the spare Starecross pantry and toasted it on forks in the sitting room, eating it too hot and bare-handed so that their fingers grew greasy, and drinking wine out of incongruous tin cups— after they had washed, for in addition to the grease, Segundus had begun to feel the three days' worth of dirt— after a stray comment about Starecross's water pump had led to an argument about dowsing, which in turn had led to a long discussion about the allegiances of rivers, which had necessitated their relocation to the library—when dusk had fallen, and the November evening grew cold, and Segundus had recalled that candles needed to be lit, and Childermass had said, "Save them; it is warmer in your bedroom," a tentativeness in his gaze that was not characteristic, and Segundus had said only, "That is true," his own gaze also tentative as it met Childermass's— when they had found their way back through the dark corridors, and Segundus had lit the candles in the room— and he turned to look at Childermass, who had paused in the act of turning back his shirt-cuffs, distracted by the book he had been reading on Thomas Godbless. He was not paying attention to Segundus at all in that moment. He was fiddling absently with the button of a cuff. There was a slight frown of concentration on his face.

This, Segundus thought. This is what I've won.

He had not had in any sense a plan for that evening; he would not have dared to contemplate one. In fact he had thought he might manoeuvre Childermass into telling him about the laudanum and the ivy and the grand gilt room. But he was not sure he felt robust enough to hear it. He was so tired of being the victim in these stories.

Instead he crossed the room to where Childermass was standing, and touched his shoulder. At first lightly: a very hesitant question— then shifting, pushing Childermass to stumble backwards the few steps it took to reach the wall. Segundus did not look him in the eye at first. He felt frightened. His heart was beating very fast. He smoothed his hands against Childermass's chest, as though he were confirming the real, warm, tangible presence of him.

Childermass was not wearing a neckcloth; the collar of his shirt was slightly open. Segundus touched the bare triangle of skin it exposed; then set his fingers on the top waistcoat button, unbuttoning it, and the one below, and so on, in a line. He felt oddly as though he were climbing a ladder. He did not know yet where it would go, but he knew he could not afford to look down. He pushed the waistcoat off Childermass's shoulders. Childermass let it fall without a word.

Then his shirt: drawing it up to slip it off, exposing his pale and dark-haired chest. Segundus could see the bullet-scar high on his left shoulder. He touched it curiously. It was a knot of flesh: not badly healed, but an implacable mark that here was where a wound had been.

There were other scars, too. A few snake-like marks that coiled around to his ribs from his back. Segundus touched those too. He knew what they were. He tried to imagine it. _I would kill any man who did that to you,_ he thought. He did not say this because he knew that it was both absurd and wholly inadequate. He let his hands trail up instead, slow, exploratory, aimless. He felt Childermass shiver, though the room was warm.

At this point Childermass raised his own hand to Segundus's collar, but Segundus shook his head. He said in a small steady voice, "No." He dropped his touch to where Childermass's breeches began.

"Oh," Childermass said softly, as though perhaps he understood. He let his hand fall and did not comment again as Segundus unfastened the buttons of his falls, then fell to his knees to attend to the smaller buttons there. He shifted to allow Childermass to shed the trousers, then pared the stockings carefully from his legs.

He stood and regarded Childermass's naked body. He could not stop the hitch of his breath. But then Childermass himself was evidently aroused, his cock standing mostly erect. Segundus traced the curve of a hipbone with his thumb. If it was teasing, it was not deliberate; he wanted to touch all of the places he now had a right to. They held a powerful fascination for him.

Childermass cupped a hand against the side of Segundus's face. "Do you have what you wanted?" he asked. His voice was slightly hoarse.

"Yes," Segundus whispered.

"Then can I—" Before he finished asking, he was tipping Segundus's face up, meeting his eyes for a moment— a hint of uncertainty in his glance— before kissing him very fiercely. There was no uncertainty here, and none of the slow chasteness there had been; in its place was a hunger that bordered on starving.

Segundus pushed back against him, flattening him against the wall with a slightly violent motion that caused Childermass to let out a gasp before clenching his hands in Segundus's hair as though he could drag him further into him. After a moment, a hand fumbled down to grasp Segundus's shirt, rucking up a fistful of cambric. Then, releasing it, found the first button of his waistcoat.

"Careful," Segundus gasped on a half-laugh. It was the green waistcoat that Childermass had bought him.

Childermass broke away from the kiss, his hands working at the buttons. "I would," he said breathlessly, "buy you a dozen waistcoats, if I could; I would buy you every fine thing, coats and cloths; it pleases me to see you wear what I have given you."

Segundus could not have said why he found this so exciting, but he was suddenly quite out of breath. He shrugged off the waistcoat, tossing it over a chair, and then stripped his shirt over his head. He had scarcely lowered his arms before Childermass's hands were on him, Childermass's mouth pressing against his neck, sucking at the skin of his throat. Segundus arched into him involuntarily, pressing up against his thigh, at which point Childermass made an attempt at his breeches. Undoing these was a complicated affair, because both their hands were trembling and Segundus kept having to kiss Childermass suddenly, prompted by a wild and serious impulse every time he looked at him.

In the course of getting his breeches off, they departed the wall and travelled perhaps halfway to the bed before becoming so entangled in one another that advancement was impossible. Crucially, Segundus had wrapped his hand around Childermass's cock, and had discovered an urgent need to observe and catalogue all of the responses produced by varying touches. He was, as he had attempted to explain so many times, not without some amount of experience, and the revelation of how he could cause Childermass to react by applying the skills acquired in such pursuits was a powerful one— inebriating, even. He could do nothing except stare open-mouthed, occasionally dropping his head to Childermass's shoulder and gasping when the sight became too much.

Childermass allowed this for a surprisingly long time before he seized Segundus's hands and said roughly, "This is not research."

"It ought to be," Segundus said. Then, as Childermass propelled him towards the bed: "It ought to be, it ought to be research, there ought to be— a library, a literature, a faculty— no, not a faculty— because—"

Childermass tipped him onto the bed and crawled on top of him. He kissed Segundus, which made him be quiet, but he was smiling rather crookedly. "Not a faculty?" he asked.

"No," Segundus gasped. He gripped Childermass's hair to pull him down. "I will write the books; it will be my field of study; only— only me—"

Childermass appeared to endorse this idea, for he buried himself in kissing Segundus, pressing his whole body down, naked skin on skin— a totality of contact that Segundus clung to, hooking an ankle around Childermass's leg.

They lay like this, moving against each other, until Segundus broke a little away and put his hand to Childermass's face. "You should—" he said breathlessly. "If— that is to say, if you would do it—"

Childermass paused and gazed down at him. "I _should_ ," he repeated dubiously. " _Should_ I?"

Segundus winced. He could not deny the intrusion of the outer world, here where he most of all did not want it. He found he did not know how to say— "It is not," he began haltingly, "—the act itself; it could just as well have been— anything that I had to _give_ to a person, I suppose, and—" He stopped. Then it seemed to him that perhaps he did know how to say it. "And nothing I had left to give was simple." He looked away, biting his lip. "So I found I could not— or I did not wish to— but you are the one I know I can entrust it to." He did not know if he had said the right thing.

Childermass looked at him for a very long time, slowly stroking the hair back from his face. " _You_ could," he said, "if you wished. Have me, if you preferred."

Segundus flushed very deeply. "It is not," he said in a small abashed voice, "perhaps quite what I had... imagined."

He had not expected this would have the effect that it did. When he looked, Childermass was starting a slow, slow smile. "Oh," Childermass said. "So you have _imagined_ , have you?"

"I," Segundus said. He was finding it overwhelming to contemplate his imaginings while Childermass was actually on top of him, and certain signs of this— notably the twitch of his cock and the tiny, restrained flinch of his hips— were very obviously evident.

Childermass seemed to enjoy this immensely. He watched Segundus with an expression of fascination, then reached down and pressed a gentle thumb to the point of one nipple, which made Segundus cry out and push up into him. Childermass said, "Given that you have put so much thought into the matter—" He repeated the same action, with much the same result.

Segundus, gathering the direction of this, said, "A great deal of thought and... attention."

"Hmm," Childermass said. He bent his head and licked a stripe across the opposite nipple. Segundus dug fingers into his back. They had shifted unconsciously back into that somewhat rolling movement, which was at once not enough contact and at instants too much, the wire-thin touch of what could be.

"Please," Segundus said. Then, meeting Childermass's eyes: "Please." He saw a flash of tenderness, and knew that Childermass understood.

This did not mean that Childermass immediately changed his tactics. Instead he lowered his mouth to Segundus's neck, just above the point where his collarbones joined. "I do not know if you recall," he said, his breath a damp murmur, "but you once removed my neckcloth and—"

"I remember," Segundus said, turning bright crimson.

Childermass dragged his tongue against his neck, a slow, exaggerated swipe. Segundus covered his face with one hand, partly to hide how red he was, and partly so he would not have to see it— the thoughtful expression that was, somehow, worse than excitement, more viscerally arousing than lust.

"No," Childermass said, sounding amused, and removed Segundus's hand. He knelt up and regarded it, then pressed his mouth to the base of the palm.

"I was enchanted!" Segundus protested weakly. "I did not know you wanted me!"

A fierce dark look slipped through the veil of amusement. "I wanted you," Childermass said.

He took Segundus's little finger in his mouth, curling his tongue around it delicately, then tracing a wet line to the next finger and allowing the barest tip to enter into that tense damp heat. Then the length of the finger— Segundus's cock jumped— then letting it drag against his lip.

Segundus closed his eyes. And yet he could not keep them closed. He did not feel, anymore, that this was a game. It was back to that raw and wild-edged wanting. He felt almost light-headed with it. His breath came in pants. He watched Childermass mouth at another finger, then press his mouth wetly to Segundus's palm, then— at last, but _oh_ — draw his mouth away.

"And what about me?" Segundus whispered. "Did I not also want—"

Childermass touched a fingertip to his lips. Segundus parted them. That fingertip pressed inside a little. Segundus hollowed his cheeks deliberately, sucking at it, then leant forwards to take the finger in his mouth, wetly raking his lip along the underside. Childermass's mouth fell open a little. He watched raptly as Segundus repeated the motion. Segundus, reaching out, found the length of his cock and wrapped his still-damp palm around it.

"Oh," Childermass said, his eyes closing briefly, and thrust: pushing himself through Segundus's fist as Segundus bit lightly at his finger. The reaction to this was what he had hoped for. Childermass's breath hissed. He pressed a shaking hand against Segundus's shoulder without seeming to know he was doing it, then dragged his finger from Segundus's mouth. He moved, groping for Segundus's knee while trying not to slip from his hand; he seemed perplexed how to accomplish this, and the end result was a slightly awkward tangle of limbs that made Segundus laugh noiselessly.

Childermass directed a vexed look at him. Segundus reached up with both hands to grip his hair, pull his head down, because somehow the sight of Childermass vexed made him tender with want. They kissed devouringly for a moment. Segundus folded his knee up and Childermass stroked it, then moved his mouth to press against the inside, which should have been absurd but was decidedly not. Indeed it robbed Segundus of breath. The sight of Childermass between his spread-wide legs was so much a figment of fantasy that the wet touch was almost too much to bear.

"I have," Segundus said— thinking of fantasy— "If you will—under the bed—"

Childermass looked at him uncomprehending for a moment. Then his gaze turned very hot. "You _imagined_ ," he said.

"Yes," Segundus said. He was quite beyond shame.

Childermass said darkly, "I should like to hear a great deal more about these imaginings in the future."

But he left the subject apart from this, and fetched the bottle of oil out. He applied a little of the substance to his hand, and then— in a move that Segundus had not foreseen— bent his head and applied his mouth to Segundus's cock.

Segundus's head thudded against the pillow. He immediately knew that he must not look, yet all the same he could feel Childermass's tongue moving against him, the slow intent suction, the slide of his lips, and so he felt quite helpless even before Childermass pressed a finger into him— which was so alien and so intensely warm a sensation that it punched a noise of shock out of him. He pushed down, because he did not know if it was pleasurable or not, but he knew that he wanted more of it.

Childermass drew his mouth off Segundus's cock lingeringly and watched him with a such a very concentrated look that Segundus felt for a moment as though he were being leached from himself— that everything he was was surrendering itself to that look. Childermass's finger moved in him at an unhurried pace, making space for itself, and was joined by another with a distinct sense of _opening_ that caused Segundus to feel rather vulnerable, as though he had become naked in a way he had not known it was possible to be.

He groped for Childermass's other hand and gripped it very tightly. At the same time, those long fingers, seeking, found pleasure: a pleasure that he did not fully understand, since it seemed to come from no particular place inside him, but from his whole body. It seemed Childermass had found some secret key to him, and every time he turned it, it unlocked new rooms, whole wings of sensation that Segundus had not known were inside of him. Segundus shut his eyes and _writhed_ , which he thought he had never done before, which he had not really believed that people did. His nails dug hard into Childermass's palm. He made a sound, a kind of hurt desperate hungry sound.

Childermass was gazing at him slack-mouthed. " _Yes_ ," he said very intensely. "Yes—" He thrust his fingers in hard, then again, pressing in with a third fingertip, spreading Segundus achingly wide, forcing more raw shudders of sensation through him. Childermass breathed heavily at the noise this produced, pushing, pushing in very hard—

The distinct carefulness with which he'd begun was now gone. He dragged his fingers out and shoved Segundus's knee in towards his chest, leaning over him to kiss him in a somewhat wild and frantic manner, a wet, rather filthy, haphazard kiss that Segundus pushed up into, opening his mouth.

Childermass groaned under his breath at that. "Christ, I want you," he said raggedly. "I have always wanted you—I wanted to have you, just like this—"

Then he was pulling Segundus's hips towards him, stroking his own cock with a fast slick hand, setting the head of it where he had worked Segundus open and steadily, forcefully penetrating him.

It hurt, and yet it was what Segundus had wanted: Childermass pushing unsparingly into his core, the sense of being forced impossibly open by him, but more than that: the naked look on Childermass's face, as though some outermost element of it had fractured and what lay below was very raw. He could not quite believe that he was the one who had done this. That Childermass could be so vulnerable to him. Yet it was his body that Childermass entered, his body that could push back and cause Childermass to gasp out a broken sound that was half a curse and half nonsense. His body that Childermass sank into so deeply that he thought for a moment he could not endure it, until he saw that Childermass had an expression as though _he_ could not endure it, as though he were holding himself together by the thinnest of threads, and then Segundus thought he could quite happily endure anything that evoked this response from Childermass.

Childermass said rather shakily, "Please— please— I cannot—"

Segundus was not sure what he was asking. He reached up and brushed Childermass's hair back from his face. Even this small touch caused Childermass to gasp and flinch his hips forwards. Then Segundus thought he understood, and whispered, "Yes." He let his heel brush against Childermass's back, a feather-light touch that urged him on.

Childermass made a strangled, starving kind of sound and drew himself out, then pushed very hard but very slowly back in. This thrust led naturally to the next, and the next. Each time Segundus was not sure he could take him all. It felt like so much; he felt so small and so stretched; yet Childermass pressed on and on in those long deep thrusts, and gradually Segundus's body welcomed him. He shift, drawing his leg high up Childermass's back. That unfocussed pleasure arced suddenly through him, and he pushed back towards it, making a noise.

This caused Childermass's thrusts to stutter. He leaned down, claiming Segundus's mouth. He was very out of breath. Segundus bit his lip to hear the sound he would make. Childermass did not disappoint him: he moaned, and shoved hard against Segundus, which made pleasure swell all through him. He felt strangely exhilarated, drunk on that pleasure. It was like being enchanted again, except it came from himself, from his own body, and he could chase after the sensation of it— which he did, digging his hands into Childermass's shoulders, driving him to thrust very deep, which induced the hot sharp quiver he craved. He craved— as they went on, he found that he wanted, in a very particular and unforgiving way. It was not enough to enjoy Childermass's enjoyment. He squirmed and hitched up his legs, reaching for his cock and working a fist along it.

When Childermass noticed this, he said thickly, "You— oh—" and shoved into Segundus very fast over and over again, almost collapsing onto him to kiss him fiercely and wetly. His eyes were closed and he did not seem fully conscious of what he did. He pressed his face against Segundus's with a look of agony, and his hips jerked in a wild and disconnected manner. Segundus felt him drive very deep, and then Childermass stiffened and climaxed with a soundless gasp.

The sensation was wet but not unpleasant. Segundus could not, though, stop twitching his hips back in helpless search of stimulation, even as Childermass kissed his neck with a kind of slow, wet, unfocused fervency, mumbling something unintelligible against it. Childermass did not seem inclined to move very much, beyond his vague concentration on this kiss. There was, Segundus had to admit, something endearing about this, given Childermass's usual brittle attentiveness. He resigned himself to tolerating it a little longer.

"... so good," Childermass was saying into his neck only a little more distinctly. "... could stay inside you forever, just— keep you like this, just for me..."

Which was not an unappealing prospect, but—

"No," Segundus told him. "I refuse. You will please turn your energies elsewhere." He rolled his hips up to indicate where this should be.

Childermass huffed a laugh against his throat. "Impatient," he said.

Segundus caught a hand in his hair and pulled, dragging his head up. "I have been," he said rather incredulously, "lured into Faerie, tied to trees and tables and beds, enchanted in a hundred different ways; I have been insulted by you and lugged about naked on horseback; I have lost a good part of my not considerable wardrobe—"

"I am going to buy you a new wardrobe," Childermass interjected hazily.

"— all while you could have been doing as I have just graciously allowed you to do—"

"All right," Childermass said. "Yes."

"—I am the most patient man in this land or any other!"

"I do not think it counts as gracious if you enjoy it." Nevertheless he eased himself out of Segundus's body and languidly slid up to take his cock in hand, nuzzling at his collarbone as he fisted it slowly. "I would use my mouth," he murmured, "but I want to see your face when you finish; I want to see your face when I make you come—"

This effectively ended Segundus's ability to speak. He twisted his head against the pillow, panting, and let Childermass do as he wished— which turned out to be to draw him to a long peak of sensation, until Segundus was trembling with it, amazed that he was able to stay in his skin any longer, since he felt like the wanting would drive him out of it.

Then Childermass laid a hand against his cheek, turning his head gently, brushing away a few damp tendrils of hair, and as he had promised, he watched as Segundus shook through his climax. He was not as silent as Childermass had been; he could not help uttering small and possibly shaming cries that felt a little like an admission. An admission of what, he could not say.

When he recovered his breath and blinked at Childermass, whose hand was stroking gently at his hip, he could not quite read the look on Childermass's face. But he thought— and then flushed at himself for thinking— that it was a little like wonder. This made him feel so very self-conscious that he drew Childermass to him and kissed him for a very long time, until he was drowsy and sated with happiness.


	7. Chapter 7

They washed, or rather: chiefly Segundus washed both of them, as Childermass, in his post-coital mood, proved primarily interested in drooping over Segundus's body and laying slow aimless kisses against his neck. It was as though his austerity were a coat that had come off all at once— as though Segundus had taken it off him with the rest of his clothes, and beneath it was someone surprisingly soft.  
  
Speaking of coats—  
  
"You have my overcoat," Childermass observed absently, muffled by Segundus's shoulder.  
  
"Mm," Segundus said with a trace of guilt. "You left it."  
  
Childermass seemed to consider this, or perhaps he was only considering Segundus's lower back, the curve of which he was stroking over and over.  
  
Segundus added, "You may reclaim it, of course."  
  
Childermass _hmm_ ed thoughtfully. "I enjoy the thought of you naked inside it," he said with an unhurried, sleepy sort of lust. "Now that you are not enchanted. Naked and wearing only my coat."  
  
"I recall it as rather drafty," Segundus informed him— not without a flush of interest.  
  
"Oh, no," Childermass said. Segundus could feel him smirking. "However will you keep warm?"  
  
Segundus flicked him with a flannel for that. Childermass caught at it and wrested it from his hand, then towed him towards the bed. Segundus allowed himself to be towed.They were clean enough, and the night was cold. The bed was warm, and warmer with Childermass in it— especially since he insisted on draping himself more-or-less directly atop Segundus, wrapping his arms very tightly around him.  
  
"I cannot move," Segundus pointed out.  
  
"No," Childermass said. "You cannot." Having said this, he seemed satisfied that the point had been settled, and he dropped to sleep almost immediately after that. His breath slowed and his mouth slightly slackened where even in sleep he had pressed it to Segundus's neck.   
  
Segundus eyed him in fond exasperation. Gently he touched a hand to his back, running fingertips along the scarred and unscarred skin there. He felt a sense of distant amazement that he had been entrusted with this— with everything that he held, warm and breathing, in his arms. For a moment he felt superstitiously frightened. He did not deserve it; he would be found out; it would all be taken from him again. But he was tired, and he could not spare the energy for worry, he thought; and he thought that perhaps he could just have this— this  _now_  of Childermass slumbering against him. He drifted to sleep on that vague hopeful thought.  
  
When he woke, Childermass was stroking his hair. It was a light, absent touch that Segundus found soothing. For a moment he lay there, his eyes still closed, dozing and enjoying it. Then he turned towards the source, squinting in the dawn light and reaching out a drowsy hand.  
  
Childermass shifted, pulling him forwards till Segundus's head rested against his chest. Segundus set a meditative hand on his ribcage, watching it rise and fall with his breathing. Neither of them spoke. After a moment, Childermass resumed stroking his hair.   
  
Eventually, Childermass said, "So. You are not a virgin any longer."  
  
"It was always a rather arbitrary definition," Segundus said with a faint note of asperity. In truth, he did feel curiously as though he had been a virgin and now was not, but it had nothing to do with the act. He was a little afraid of this feeling. He was not sure if it had to do with what he had given to Childermass, or what Childermass had given to him. It was quite easy, sometimes, to give things away; less so to find yourself in possession of them. Before, you had had nothing to lose. Now that would not be the case again.  
  
"Mm," Childermass acknowledged. "Still. I confess myself glad of it. And not only for selfish reasons."   
  
"I am looking forward to not being kidnapped again," Segundus agreed. He paused, a little conflicted about his next question. "What...  _did_  happen? I do not remember it. Only a sort of ivy, and I cannot say if that was real."  
  
"It was real enough. Though it was not ivy. Ivy would not lend itself to such a purpose." Childermass's hand had stilled, heavy, on Segundus's shoulder. "I could not free you without breaking the spell, which caused a sort of backlash. Forgive me. I tried to lessen the effect. I was not sure at first..." He fell silent. His hand tightened painfully. "But I could not leave you; they meant to kill you. But you would not wake, and so I thought I had... but now you are well.   
  
"Yes," Segundus said. He thought he was glad that he did not remember much of this. It occurred to him that this was possibly a selfish thought. But, after all, he was the one who had been kidnapped. He was the one who— he thought of the ivy, the not-ivy, pressing against his mouth and shuddered. This caused Childermass to fumble at him somewhat frantically and draw him up, folding him almost suffocatingly in his arms, pressing kisses in rather haphazard places: the corner of his mouth, his ear, his cheek, his jaw.  
  
"You are well now?" Childermass asked, sounding oddly uncertain. "You are not... you are content?"  
  
"I am well," Segundus assured him. "I swear I am. And very content. A little sore, perhaps."  
  
"Oh," Childermass said. He was silent for a moment. "Well." The tone of his voice had changed. If anything, he now sounded slightly smug.   
  
"That was not intended as a personal compliment," Segundus informed him.   
  
Childermass laughed low against his shoulder. "You cannot blame a man," he said. His hands were wandering lower down Segundus's back, and he was showing other signs of interest.  
  
"Can I not," Segundus said. He thought probably this did not make very much sense, but his attention by this point had slipped; he was coaxing Childermass's head up to kiss him extremely thoroughly, then pushing him flat to climb on top of him.

* * *

Come noon, they had yet to leave the bedroom. Segundus was half-drowsing amongst the twisted-up sheets, feeling rather deliciously tumbled and significantly sweatier than he had been. Childermass— equally disarrayed— was lying beside him, gazing at him languidly and running an idle hand over his bare skin. Segundus felt as though he were being petted. It was not a disagreeable feeling.  
  
"I must go to London," Childermass said eventually, without taking his eyes from Segundus. "I have been putting it off."  
  
"Oh," Segundus said. He was unsure how to react to this. He thought he probably had a look of faint disappointment. "Your... you say it is not a political career?"  
  
"Yes. And Vinculus is there." Childermass made a face. "Assuming he has not got himself expelled from the city."  
  
"You know," Segundus said, "I thought that perhaps... perhaps you were only rescuing me because—" It seemed absurd now that he tried to say it. "Because of the politics of it. I could not think why else— I was so beneath your notice—" He had resigned himself to Childermass saying  _You were never beneath my notice_ , which he would not wholly believe, but which he was starting to accept.  
  
But Childermass did not say this. Instead he said with surprising fierceness, "No one is beneath my notice. How I may judge them is another matter; it is another matter what I may do with what I see; but to look away— to say, I shall not trouble myself, it cannot affect me very much— it is gone time that we did away with this notion."  
  
Segundus said, "You are making a speech." He did not mean it as a judgement, but as an observation. He found it rather startling to realize that Childermass was almost certainly a gifted speechmaker. He had that talent of inducing others to believe what he believed.  
  
Childermass looked rather abashed. "Forgive me. It is a habit."  
  
"It is a nice idea, not being beneath someone's notice," Segundus said wistfully. "I have often felt beneath most people's notice. I do not think this has changed appreciably since the re-introduction of magic, revolutionary though it may be."  
  
"Well, of course it has not," Childermass said, as though this ought to be obvious. "A plot of land is not made a farm by the coming of spring. It must be tilled and sown. We have forgotten how to do it, I think; we think that if John Uskglass came back, he would solve such problems. But we must start by solving the problems we can. We must take up doing his work. Even if that is only—"  
  
"Preserving my virtue?" Segundus asked wryly.  
  
"No," Childermass said. "That was entirely a selfish endeavour." He reached out to touch Segundus's face. "Though I confess to desiring a kind of justice that would allow me to persecute any man who laid a hand on you."  
  
Segundus set his palm against Childermass's side, just above the curve of his ribs, covering the faint trails of scars that curved there. He did not say anything.  
  
Childermass dropped his eyes. After a very long pause he said, "But this is fine conversation for the bedroom. You shall be glad to be rid of me before I am done."  
  
"No. No," Segundus said. The words had been delivered in a jesting tone, but he surprised himself by how distressed he was by them. "I shall  _not_  be glad. I would have you stay here with me. Right here. No more than— say, five inches away."  
  
"Five inches," Childermass said. His lips twitched.  
  
"Five inches," Segundus said firmly. "It is coming on winter, and you will find that I have very few clothes; I must use you to keep off the chill."  
  
"Well," Childermass said, "your argument seems very sound. I cannot contest it. I suppose I shall simply have to stay here and be used." He drew out this last word in a very suggestive manner, while in the same moment pushing Segundus onto his back and kneeling up over him.   
  
Segundus issued a little huff of indignation. But Childermass was looking at him with an inscrutable expression in which some considerable part was tenderness. He cupped Segundus's face, then leant down and kissed him.  
  
"Come with me to London," he said.   
  
"I cannot," Segundus protested. "London! What should I do in London? I should be very lost in London! And I am meant to be at the Old Starre Inn for a meeting next week!"  
  
"It is not forever. Your school is not open. And as for the Learned Society of York Magicians—" he spoke this name with a very dark look "—I have taken a disliking to some certain few of their number."  
  
Segundus was quite sure he knew which few these were. "You wished me to go to bed with them!" he said.  
  
"And now I am opposed to the notion. You should stay in my bed."  
  
"You have no bed! At least, if you have, I have not seen it."  
  
"That is true. It is a very modern bed. All England is my bed. All the moors and the valleys—"  
  
"How conceited you are!" Segundus was smiling helplessly.  
  
Childermass wore his usual look of crooked amusement. Yet at the same time there was an obscure seriousness in it. "I am very conceited," he agreed. "I aim to make a new England. And I would have you make it with me. There is nothing of myself that I would not have you share."  
  
He said it so casually, as though it were simple, as though it were the easiest thing; and Segundus thought:  _Can it be that easy?_  Nothing in his life had come very easily to him. So much had seemed like a long, fruitless struggle: a failed spell cast over and over again, till finally, at last, he won some reward. He did not begrudge anyone this; it was the nature of the world to be hard. Yet here was Childermass, holding out his heart, saying: all you are required to do is take it.   
  
Like a conjurer's trick. An impossible offer, to snatched away at the last minute. But they lived now in the world where conjuring was real, in the world of impossible promise, and so Segundus said, "I will—yes— yes."  
  
And Childermass kissed him, hiding a smile so broad that he had to break off from the kiss to laugh, pinning him down to the tangled sheets of the new world, the astonishing place where, for now, just the two of them lived.


End file.
